


don't speak

by j_sq



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Birthdays, F/M, Friendship, Post-Season/Series 14, Self-Acceptance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:58:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_sq/pseuds/j_sq
Summary: Maggie doesn't work out. April isn't coming back.Where does that leave Jackson?





	don't speak

**Author's Note:**

> So, this basically was inspired because I wanted Jackson to have a realistic reaction to April quitting and here we go! Hope you like it and don't be afraid to drop a comment!

After he visits April the third time that Thursday, just to let her hold Harriet, Jackson ties a navy blue tie around his neck that is supposed to bring out his eyes. He gives Harriet to Meredith for the night and meets Maggie at the edge of the hospital.

 

She's happy, bouncy, almost. She hugs him, kisses him briefly, but he doesn't kiss back because her lips taste too sweet, like too much sugar. 

 

They end up at a cozy restaurant that his mother had begrudgingly let slip in a hushed murmur, swore up and down that for  _ proper  _ dates, not meaningless hookups, it was the perfect place. Maggie orders French onion soup, he gets a ribeye, and they both get tall, imposing glasses of clay-red wine. 

 

Maggie smiles brightly at this, and he can't force himself to smile back. It feels like too much at this point. 

 

And they talk. They talk about the hospital and patients they have, and how the surgical competition is essentially null, up until the words sound starchy and scientific, like a lab report. They're out of place under the comforting oche lights and golden candle light. He's just about to drain his glass when Maggie says, voice small, “Do you need a few days?” 

 

“Huh?” He sets his glass down with a dull thud. 

 

“I know April almost dying and all was pretty terrifying and if you need a few days just to process, it's good. Trust me, I know.” Her eyes are kind and imploring and truthful, and she reaches over, threads her fingers with his. They feel out of place, but Jackson considers it, murmurs a thanks. 

 

The supposed days turn into a week. Then a week and a half. Then when April is nearly out of the hospital and he's just about to pass out from a particularly excruciating day, Maggie approaches him. 

 

“Are we okay? Because we haven't really  _ talked  _ for a few weeks, and that's fine,  I just wanted to know!” 

 

He’s not sure what to say to that- because at this point, it's just been him for these past weeks. Well- if he's being honest, it's been him and Harriet and April, tired and worn, but still smiling like the crest of sunrise. He doesn't answer, and for some reason, Maggie just crumples, like a piece of paper. 

 

He starts, guilt lacing his throat, “Maggie-” but she holds her hand up, turns away from him, laughs a little awkward, shaky laugh that sounds awfully like crying. Crap, crap, crap,  _ crap _ . 

 

“No,” she says, her voice final and tired. “I get it. But don't hold out too long.” 

 

That feels ominous, like a warning, but he has no idea what to say to that, no idea what it means in the dusky dark starlight. 

  
  


 

It's only when April finally gets released from the hospital, squeezes him tight and leaves, hand entwined with Matthew’s, that it finds Jackson, like a lost ship in a storm.

 

His chest turns, and there is a voice that suspiciously sounds like Mark Sloan saying,  _ what the hell are you doing, Avery?  _ It's a moment before he realizes that it's in his head, and almost by instinct, his eyes burn. 

  
  


 

Amelia doesn't look at him when he makes his way to the attendings’ lounge- which would be perfectly okay until she leaves. She slams the door right next to him, audibly enough to leave a little bit of shakiness in his bones. 

 

“What's got Shepherd all pissy?” Alex says, voice wry. He's unaware, and Jackson raises an eyebrow at her departure. He knows Maggie is close to Amelia, and-

 

Crap.  _ Meredith.  _

 

Meredith is the master of the cold shoulder- he’s seen it toward Cristina when the two of them were in dispute before she left. She's cold during surgeries, if she agrees to do surgery with him at all and won't talk to him at all outside the OR.  _ Crap!  _

 

His heart beats a staccato rhythm in time with his thoughts.  _ You deserve it, asshole.  _

 

 

It goes mostly like this: Maggie is normal to him, perky and chirpy, which stirs worry in him. Amelia gives him clipped answers that feel like the bad end of a phone call and Meredith’s silences are pure iron. His days are chock full of cosmetic procedures and burns, crawling up skin, snaking up. Sometimes he will have Harriet- sometimes he won't. On the days he does, he will hold her to his shoulder and rock on the balls of his feet, humming something he doesn't know.

Even with the added responsibility of planning Alex and Jo’s wedding, April has insisted that they keep the same schedule. One day, when the night is dawning in dusky indigo, he hears parts of a clipped conversation, like offshoots. 

 

“-and she keeps going on and on about the freaking bouquets and symbols, what the hell am I supposed to think?” 

 

A laugh. Delicate. Sounds like Meredith. 

 

“It's just like Izzie.” 

 

A pause. 

 

“Izzie? Mer, I'm getting married. Not the best time to talk about my runaway cancer wife.” 

 

“I know, I know. It's just that she was almost as crazy as April with this. Did you know she paged 911 just to get me to try on a dress?” 

 

Another pause. Then a laugh. 

 

“You're right about that.” 

 

He knows who Izzie is- remembers her shorn blond hair and her quiet ferocity toward Charles. She had just disappeared after that. 

 

And been forgotten. Like a wisp of cloud grey air. 

  
  


 

April invites him to her house for brunch on a day he's off. Harriet is sleeping in the background, and it is blessedly silent. She makes them French toast and the air is distinctly domestic, almost romantic, if he can twist it the right way. April informs him, eyes observing the lazy spill of syrup on her plate that Matthew has a shift right now. 

 

It feels- weird. 

 

Jackson takes a bite, and hums warmly at the taste. April takes a small sip of her tea. 

 

He looks at her, skin glowing, eyes immeasurably warm and wide, cherry red hair in an elegant braid. It's so unlike her cold hand in his, prayers on his tongue, swallowing his stinging tears. 

 

He looks at her. “So-” 

 

“I quit my job.” 

 

The words don't hit for a second, and then they do, and he can feel his eyes widening, millimeter by millimeter. 

 

_ “What?”  _

 

Because it has to be some sort of orchestrated joke, right? April, in all the time he's known her, has a fiery devotion for medicine, a passion and a presence for patients, a cool head for whatever comes her way. It thrums in her like music, like a symphony, each note perfect and placed. She's energy personified in the ER, moving, working, ready to take the reins, always in control. This is April, who rode a broken ambulance in the splintering rain so long ago, just so that she could prove a point. Just so that she could win. 

 

“You-  _ quit?  _ “ The words are stumbling out like a wall that's falling to pieces. The only thing left to ask, really, is,  _ “Why?”  _

 

She takes another bite, and her eyes fall shut. They sit in stunned silence for a minute or two as she thinks.

 

“Because I think- I  _ know-”  _ and her tone is steady and  _ brimming _ with conviction- “I know that I can do  _ more.  _ I see patients everyday dying and struggling, and I know, in my heart, God is telling me I can help the ones who are still out there!” 

 

Her eyes are wide, her cheeks flushed, and she's daring,  _ daring _ , him to argue. 

 

And for once Jackson doesn't, even if there is some part deep inside that  _ aches _ because April will only be someone he sees on shared birthdays, through passing Harriet back and forth. She’ll only be there for fleeting moments. 

 

She won't be in the ER, she won't be in the cafeteria, she won't be holding people in the waiting room- she'll just be-

 

But this is all in Jackson’s mind and he says nothing.

 

The last of his French toast feels like chalk in his mouth. 

 

 

_ (Later he’ll find out April has taken a job at a nearby clinic for the homeless, and for some reason, he can breathe.  _

 

_ Jackson will tell himself that it's not because there was that creeping dread that April would leave, it's not-  _

 

_ but he'll be lying.) _

  
  


 

Karev and Wilson’s wedding comes, and it's as dysfunctional as he'd thought it would be. In all honesty, Jackson can't remember a time where a wedding went as planned- except for Yang’s, but look how that ended up. It's sort of sad, he realizes, and a laugh bubbles up in the bar they'd all ended up after. 

 

He laughs and laughs until it feels more like crying, and Jackson bites his tongue to stop it. Alex had come over and made some stupid divorce jokes, which shouldn't be a thing on so many freaking levels. April-  _ April and Matthew-  _ he realizes, heart slipping down again, have Harriet tonight and everyone is dancing and happy- which- 

 

Which leaves crappy, pathetic, pretty ( _ he can hears his cousins’ mocking voices) _  Jackie Avery in a bar. 

 

Funny. 

 

_ Funny.  _

 

He's a little tipsy at this point, and Jackson can almost convince himself it's nice, until of course, Meredith drops her glass and says, voice soft, “Ginger ale and bitters, please?” 

 

He raises an eyebrow, and says, mouth tired and words slurring, “I thought you were a tequila girl, Grey?” 

 

She snorts. “When you've got three tiny children at home, you can't afford to show up wasted.” He laughs at that, until he realizes Meredith’s looking at him with an ice gaze, scrutinizing, like he's a tumor wrapped around the hepatic vein. 

 

“Are you drunk, Jackson?” 

 

He nods, maybe. 

 

“Do you have Harriet tonight?” It's murky, and he can't remember the day. Does he? 

 

“Jackson, I swear to freaking-” 

 

_ “No,”   _ he says empathetically, and she sighs in blatant relief. Meredith looks at him with something indescribable, before her lithe fingers wrap around the crook of his elbow and drag him. 

 

“What-” 

 

There's something anxious rising in him about his car, before he realizes he had been in April’s car. It makes his stomach turn. 

 

At some point, he's stumbling into a bedroom and onto the bed, and Meredith is sitting on the side, watching, watching. Her eyes are bright in the low dusk lighting, and he can almost believe they’re sad. 

 

“Aren't you supposed to be pissed at me?” he whisper- slurs.

 

She doesn't answer.

 

The world goes up into darkness. 

  
  


Jackson wakes up and his head is cracking like a coconut on an island. He flops clumsily out of bed, into the kitchen, because after years and years, he still knows his way around Meredith Grey’s house. He seats himself at the kitchen island and groans. Yesterday is a murky mix of emotions he doesn't have the time to get into- not that he wants to, anyway. 

 

Meredith from some corner of the kitchen, yells, “Tylenol’s in the cabinet under the island!” which leaves Jackson fumbling until he gets two brightly colored pills in his mouth. Meredith creeps out of nowhere, hair pulled into an a ballerina bun, Fruit Loops precariously balanced in a hand. 

 

“You look like hell,” she mutters to Jackson as the kids come bounding down the staircase. 

 

After she pours Bailey and Zola bowls of bright cereal, Bailey pipes up. “What's hell, Mommy?” 

 

Jackson doesn't know whether to laugh or leave at Bailey’s big innocent eyes. Meredith stares back, frozen. 

 

“Ah- um,  _ hell  _ is a very bad place. You shouldn't talk about it, honey.” 

 

Zola adds her own bit, slurping the interesting colored milk from her bowl. “Then why does Auntie Amy tell Uncle Alex to go there all the time?” 

 

At this, Jackson can't help but snicker. Meredith’s face has gone into a strange mixture of confused and angry. She sets down the Fruit Loops, rubs a hand over her eyes. 

 

“Because Aunt  _ Amelia _ doesn't filter her words, Zola. Don't you need to go to your Aunt Bailey’s house today? She said she had a surprise for the three of you!” 

 

At this, Zola and Bailey start happily chattering about Star Wars, and Ellis gurgles contently from her high chair. Meredith ropes Jackson into helping, through he's not at all bothered- it’s familiar, in a sentimental, sweet way. When they pull up to Bailey’s house and drop the three kids off, Meredith just parks the car nearby and sits for a while. 

 

Jackson breaks the silence. “Your kids call the Chief Bailey?” 

 

Meredith shrugs and sighs. “It's- weird calling her anything else.” She flashes bright eyes to him. “She practically raised me- it's like if I called my mom Ellis or something.” Jackson thinks about that for a while, then nods in agreement. 

 

Another silence. 

 

Meredith speaks, voice wistful. “You should have Harriet over more.” 

 

At this, Jackson jolts, looks at her, and she shrugs. It's true- in all honesty, the only real playmates that Harriet’s been getting thus far are the fellow kids from hospital daycare and Sofia. But Sofia and Arizona will be gone within the week, and Meredith does have Ellis, so-

 

“Alright,” he says, and she gives him a small, hidden sort of smile before they head to the familiar road of the hospital. 

 

If he had a choice, he'd be under a load of quilts in his apartment, waiting for his hangover to die out. He doesn’t really have an option at this point, especially when a crapload of people arrive from a chemical explosion downtown. The hospital turns into a burn treatment center, but there's something missing. 

 

He knows.  

 

He passes by Maggie when the day crests into night, and it hits him. 

 

Jackson turns around. 

 

“You weren’t at the house.” 

 

She turns back, hair still gathered under her scrub cap, and there’s a burning question in her face. Her lips part, but then she answers, nearly casual.

 

“Yeah, I-I moved out a week ago.” 

 

“Oh.” The silence stretches. 

 

“I'm seeing someone, that's why-”

 

She cuts herself off, looks at her sneakers. Jackson can't help a flush of warmth fill his chest, blacking out the sharp, awful guilt. Good for her.

  
  


He ends up spending way too much time at Meredith’s house. Sometimes, it's to bring Harriet over, sometimes it's after a long day where he's not feeling an empty apartment. Meredith is a good listener with a tongue full of sharp, morbid quips that make his ribs ache. 

 

It's weird. Before all this, he'd never  _ really _ talked to Meredith. It had always been her, Cristina, and Alex, wrapped up, laughing in memories that he didn't know. Then it had been her, Maggie, and Shepherd. He relates to her- god knew she did. He admires her- every word he had said front of those doctors, hands holding  _ her _ award had been painfully true.

  
  


He doesn't even realize it until Alex drags him into a storage closet and says, point blank, “Are you sleeping with Mere?” 

 

Jackson stares at him for three seconds before laughing, at least until Alex looks like he might punch him in the face. 

 

“N-no. That's- no.” The angry lines peel themselves away from Alex’s face. 

 

“Oh. She's just all- smiley and it's  _ weird,  _ dude, and you're there all the freaking time.” Alex looks lost, looks like he failed to connect the dots, and it’s sort of ridiculous. 

 

He can't help but smile as he scrubs in, water slipping down his forearms.

  
  


It's Harriet’s second birthday, and it’s on another Thursday. She’s happily having a tea party with Ellis, while Zola fusses with giving her a present. Ruby sits adjacent, a hand cradled on a teacup, eyes wide and happy. Jackson watches them and his chest flushes, rises with something warm and hopeful and there. It's a presence, steady and warm, like his feet to the ground and a warm hand in his. 

 

Meredith and Alex are talking about names for his kid-  _ (we’re not naming our kid after Yang, Mer)-  _ Maggie’s lifting Bailey up, hosting him with one arm, and baby Leo gurgles, unaware of the situation. 

 

“Hey,” April says softly, slipping in next to him. 

 

It still feels odd- the two of them together, but not joined, watching their daughter’s party. It's not a bad sort- just if you were to pick your second favorite flavor or ice cream. 

 

Or something like that. 

 

“Hi,” he says, soft. She giggles as Zola pours a cup for Harriet. 

 

She looks at him, and smiles something- something warm and hopeful. She looks back at Harriet. 

 

“Do you remember when you felt her kick that first time?” 

 

Jackson's lips upturn at the memory. “I thought she was a  _ he,  _ April.”

 

She laughs, warm, intimate, fleeting. His heart doesn't ache that much anymore, thinking about her- it gives away for happier thoughts, thoughts of them and their daughter, growing up together. Maybe falling in love has ebbed away for the both of them, but it doesn't stop April from slipping her fingers into his. 

 

On this Thursday, while his daughter and her friends laugh like spun sunshine, while his colleagues bicker about baby names, while April’s smile is as bright as the stars on a pitch black night- Jackson's heart has lulled to a faint rhythm. 

 

It speaks of life and all its bumps. 

 

It speaks of hope. 

 


End file.
